Fallout Equestria

Chapter 26.

Zebras.

Equestria's enemies. The creatures who slaughtered us by the millions and destroyed our lands with poisoned clouds and balefire bombs.

The creatures which were constantly portrayed as demonic, nightmarish, virtually without souls. Creatures who, according to the propaganda of the Ministry of Image, embodied the antitheses of pony virtues.

"Yeah..." I thought, looking out into a caged arena where ponies murdered each other brutally for the sport of slaves. "...because we ponies are so noble."

Was it fair to paint Xenith with all the wrongdoings of the members of her race centuries dead? No more so than to blame me for the things ponies must have done to them.

I had my own sins to bear the guilt for.

And now, assuming a raider buck named Daffodil didn't strike her down, I was expected to fight this zebra. And either kill her, or die by her hooves. Most likely the latter. I had been stripped of everything that I could use as a weapon. Even the screwdriver I had fought so hard for and felt I had earned had been taken. I had my horn, my hooves, my single spell, and S.A.T.S. My brawling skills were, to put it bluntly, pathetic. It would be a miracle if I survived.

I had managed miracles before. That was Red Eye's intention: that either I should die, or that I should be forced to kill other slaves, this zebra being only one of many, compromising the parts of me I held sacred just so that I might live long enough to kill him.

Either way would be a victory for him. Although the latter, if I did manage to kill him, would be a pyrrhic victory at best.

I thought of the image in the mirror. Littlepip as a raider, soaked in blood, dying. That was not my soul, of that I was certain! But... I knew that I could become that. I was already swimming in the slaughter of my enemies.

I realized that I was Monterey Jack, forced between destroying what allowed me to live with myself, or just dying.

I needed another option.

*** *** ***

The heat of the sun pushed down through black clouds, baking the red-tinged hellscape of Fillydelphia. Daffodil stood firm, snorting heavily, the mangled corpse of Cinderblock oozing blood that soaked into the ground around Daff's hooves.

The body of Blood, Daff's raider companion, lay not far away, her own blood drying and caking.

Daff looked at her, and I could see hurt on his face. I realized that she was just going to lay there, baking in the heat, until all the fights were over. I wanted to scream. He wasn't even given time to mourn. The next fight had already begun.

Daff turned, locking his gaze on the zebra named Xenith. An extremely rare sight in the Equestrian Wasteland. Possibly even more so than a pegasus.

"Xenith's been in the slave pits for years," commented the blue-coated pony assigned to fight after I did. "We worked near each other in the alchemy huts up on the northside for about three months, mostly recycling flamethrower fuel. All that time, she never said a word. Way I heard it, the slavers who captured her cut out her tongue after she said something offensive to them."

Number Four paused, "Her being a zebra and all, it was probably something downright egregious. Like 'Hello'."

I watched as the zebra stepped forward, moving up to Daff and lowering her head in what struck me as a sign of respect for her mortal opponent.

Daff didn't see it that way. He saw an opportunity, and he took it. Spinning around, he delivered a brutal buck right into her neck. The zebra fell sprawling.